


Riptide

by Sam_Kabaam



Category: The 100
Genre: F/M, Jaha is a little shit, Kabby!in Hawaii, Marcus has a son, Moderate amount of angst, badass private detective Abby Griffin, slow burn ofc, tattoo artist Marcus who's afraid of needles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-04 07:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11550522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Kabaam/pseuds/Sam_Kabaam
Summary: Lexa Woods is an ex-military combatant and has found a new life in Hawaii. Her love with Clarke Griffin is cut short however, after an assassination attempt puts her life at risk. Marcus Kane is the only one with enough information to track the killer, and with Abby Griffin leading the way, they both know the guilty won't get very far. That is, as long as both their pasts don't come to snatch them away from one another first.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you enjoy the first chapter of my Kabby Big Bang entry and send wonderful kudos towards my artist (ofhouseadama) enjoy!

Intro

May 17th, Honolulu Police Department

 

"If you could state your full name please."

"Marcus Emmett Kane," a cold voice to fill a cold room. It was obvious he didn't want to be there, and Marcus made sure to announced it with every word that was forced from his mouth.  
He seemed to feel the memories that lingered within the room he sat in. Dancing in the midst of the detectives pupils across from him, his story seemed so similar. A financially struggling man, with a family, living in a one bedroom studio apartment on the corner of 'is-this-life avenue' and 'or-just-living boulevard.' The man would go home later that night and kiss his wife. He would feel her heart beating and relish in the very presence of her. Then his kids would come and ask about his day, what sort of villains he encountered and what magical powers they possessed. And then he would smile, and it would be the first genuine smile he had shown all day. And when he went to sleep that night he would be curled close to everything he stood for, keeping her warm as the moon filled the room. The next day however, a new story would crawl from their skin and it would be most unexpected. Marcus knew this better than anyone. So, perhaps they weren't so alike. 

"Mr. Kane," a short pause followed, the detective across from him suddenly catching his attention," would you mind telling us what happened around one thirty in the afternoon on March thirteenth?" 

Marcus's eyes were calm, yet within them was a sense of wisdom pushed under by a distant, unsentimental shield.  
"He never set up an appointment," Marcus explained, "whoever he was, he never set up an appointment. He gave me his name, but I knew it was fake. He didn't look like a John to me," Marcus leaned to his side as he rested his elbow on the cold, metal table and ran his hand over his clean shaven cheeks as if he had a beard. "When he gave me his design, it was nothing but lines and circles-" 

"Lines and circles?" The detectives voice was louder and faster than his, a tone used to cut off the person in question and delve into an important piece of information. 

"Yes," Marcus glared towards him in a sarcastic tone, unwelcome towards the other mans sudden outburst, "lines and circles. I asked him about it, but he shrugged and said it was a drawing his son had done for him when he was little. I tried asking what happened, but he didn't say much. I presume something quite sad." Marcus looked down to his hand and smirked. 

"I'm sorry, is there something I should know?" 

Marcus looked up with eyes finally revealing some sort of purpose. "No, I'm sorry, I just... thought of my son, is all." 

"You have a son?" The detective seemed surprised. 

"Yes, sir, I do. He's two," Marcus spoke in a matter that was no longer harsh and cold, but longing. He recognized this change as well. He blamed this place for it. For all of it. The stone walls and dimmed lights. It reminded him of chilling times when he thought there would be no escape. And to think of his own child and smile when the thought of someone else's misfortune caught his attention? Marcus sometimes worried about himself, and that fact alone bugged him in every possible way. But in times of darkness, he had no one else in his life to think of but him. 

"And was he present at the time of your meeting with the suspect?" The detectives voice cut through his thoughts. 

Marcus thought for a few moments, trying to piece together both his and his sons busy schedules. Was the man there on Tuesday? No, Thursday. Wait, wasn't it raining Thursday? His memory worried him just as much as his sanity. As the clock on the wall ticked and tocked at every passing moment they both sat in silence as he waited for the answer to come to him.  
"He wasn't," Marcus finally remembered, "my neighbor went for a walk along the beach and he went along." 

The detective reviewed the papers in front of him for several minutes before looking back up to Marcus again, "sir, do you believe this man was a threat to you?" 

Marcus almost let out a laugh.  
"Why would he-" 

"Do you think he would have hurt your son?" The man cut him off once more. 

"I'm sorry, I just told you my so-" 

"Do you think his tone of voice was that of a crude or sadistic demeanor?" 

"Please," Marcus chuckled and looked down, amused by the detectives impending questions and concerns that were of no relevance, "let me catch my breath. No, no, and no. No to all of those questions. Detective, I don't see myself as much more help to you. If you want a picture of his tattoo, then I have a photograph I took of it before he left. Otherwise, I have nothing else to give you. I appreciate your concern for me and my son, but I think it's enough." 

Once again, they sat in silence as the detective thought. He stared at Marcus through glass eyes that hadn't touched the sun in hours. His skin, however, displayed the suns kisses for the world to see, gently pecking his body in art and design. A natural tattoo.  
With a wave of his hand he stood and outstretched his arm for Marcus to take hold of.  
"You were very helpful to us, Mr. Kane. We appreciate your time here. But I supposed it is time for you to see yourself out." 

He hid a sigh of relief. Standing from his chair the metal legs hissed across the concrete floor and echoed across the walls. As their hands met, they both shivered at one another's freezing hands and death-like glares. As Marcus made his way from the building he listened as his heals dug into the ground, and felt as his fingernails dug into his palm. It was going to be a long day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby Griffin prepares to leave for Hawaii and Marcus prepares for his day

Chapter 1

May 30th, 535 W 23rd St, New York, NY

 

"What do you mean you don't like coconut water? You've been living in Hawaii for nearly a year now, I hear it's an acquired taste!" 

"You can try it for yourself once you get here! It tastes terrible! Like a milky, watery sort of sap!" 

Abby let out a small, humored giggle as her daughter complained over the other end of the phone all four thousand eight hundred and eighty nine miles away. She had forgotten how their topic had stretched so far as the taste of coconut water anyway. With every fold of her laundry the phone seemed to drop further and further from her shoulder, and as the clock continued to beat closer and closer to midnight, she questioned how she was even holding a decent conversation at all. She could imagine the cars below her waving like palm trees in the ocean breeze and the smell of exhaust and sewer filling her head with the scent of dollar store sunscreen and tropical flowers blooming in the spring. The sun would no longer be pushed away by buildings watching her every move, but by mountains reaching to grasp Rangi's hand in the sky. She would never admit it, but she was more excited about taking a trip to Hawaii than about tracking down her step daughters attempted murderer. She worried about them so much, perhaps it was her subconscious trying to tell her that everything would be ok. 

"You and I both know we'll be doing more than relaxing on the beach with Piña Coladas," Abby turned serious then, imagining what her life would be like now if the killer had actually succeeded. 

Clarke thought of this too on the other end of the line as she continued to clean every surface of her home. Her mother hadn't been back to see them In years. With growing airline expenses and both their busy schedules, it was more than just a simple miracle that Abby was coming out for 'work.'   
Despite cliche Hawaiian homes, theirs was nothing special. Windows seemed to keep afloat the roof above their heads as Clarke looked out onto the street. There was no view of the ocean or mountains stretching miles below them, but instead simple homes just like their own going about their everyday business. Hardwood floors screamed at every step she took and the fans hissed as the humid, salty air danced around the room. Their kitchen was a mess. Unfinished with no cabinet drawers and penguin cups and dining ware as their eating utensils. Even their bedroom was still an ugly, olive shade of green. But, Lexa loved this place. She loved the smell of her candles and homemade soaps filling the hallways. She loved the look of imperfect floors and cracked stained glass windows that had grown to become a rarity on the island. And for some reason, she even loved the sound their back door made when she slid open the screen panel. Clarke, although more of a perfectionist, grew to love these things too, as long as Lexa did. 

"How is Lexa?" Abby asked for the hundredth time at the subtle mention of Abby's business going to Hawaii in the first place. 

Clarke sighed, "she's still shaken up about it, but she won't admit it. I would be too if my killing stalker was still on the loose." 

"We don't know if he's a stalker yet or not," Abby reminded her, "Lexa didn't even see his face. So, as of now, we have nothing."   
Abby shoved every pair of shorts and colorful dress she owned into her suitcase, completely ignoring her typical routine of making sure everything was nicely folded and in order.   
Clarke, on the other hand, balanced her phone perfectly on her shoulder as she carefully placed every clean washcloth she had in the bathroom cabinet in neat and perfect order. Wiping down the counter top, not one speck of dust remained to taint the surface. And, on top of that, she had lit the same coconut pineapple candle in every single room of the house, determined to make sure her home was perfect for not only her mother, but for Lexa, who's done nothing but look over her shoulder day in and day out. 

"Whatever. It'll be fine," Clarke smirked, hoping to make the conversation lighter, "we have the greatest detective in New York coming to save the day!" 

Abby let out the sort of laugh not born from humor but of sarcasm. "Well, I just found out the new building is going to cost nearly double than originally priced. I better be one damn good detective if I'm going to be able to finish the construction." 

For years Abby had struggled staying focused in her office building nearly in the slums of the city. Cracks grew wider and longer across the ceiling as every passing train sped past a foot from her window. The carpet had always been stained with some sort of brown liquid that Abby never once tried to decipher, and the windows were long overdue to be shattered. Not even the air conditioning, or heater, worked half of the year. In the end, if it weren't for online files, Abby's location alone could've put her out of business. She would think quite frequently of the time the NYPD showed up at her door asking for help.   
"I didn't think police hired private detectives," she smirked to one of the officers who was more than unhappy to be there.   
"We don't." 

"I'm so excited! Me and Lexa will finally be *forced* to come visit you to see the finished building!" 

"If it ever gets finished," Abby commented, finally zipping up her bright red Kenneth Cole suitcase and flopping down onto her expensive mattress, courtesy of her luxury apartment complex. To her left was nothing but a dark, ugly night sky filled with darkness and pollution. During the day, the Hudson River kept her company through the rush hour. Yet still it displayed nothing but an endless void when the moon was cast away by midnight clouds and carbon emissions. She was lucky to be high enough to be deaf to the sound of passing cargo freighters and jet skiing partiers. Perhaps all this time New York was not her place to be. She realized now that everything she once loved about her home could be parried by something as equally unfortunate or unwanted.

"It'll work out, promise," Abby could hear the closing of a door behind Clarke's muffled speech. "Sorry, mom, Lexa is back. I'll see you tomorrow! What time do you land again?" 

Abby came to life again, "I should be taking off by eight and getting to Honolulu around seven. And don't ask me about picking you up a Toblerone chocolate bar, I already have it in my schedule to buy as many as I possibly can before I take off."

Clarke smiled, unknown to the fact that her mother was doing the same. 

"Thanks mom." 

"I love you, Clarke. Tell Lexa I love her too. Everything will be ok. We'll have everything resolved by the end of the week," she hoped to make Clarke feel better, even if it did nothing at all, "I love you." 

"I love you too." 

\-- -- -- -- --

May 31st Oahu, Hawaii "Ink" 

*"We'll start out this morning with a slight ocean breeze out of the west with a slight chance of rain during the evening hours. I would be surprised if we even sa-" *

"I've always hated that weatherman," Raven grabbed the remote from off of the windowsill and turned the volume down a few notches as to not tear her ears off. She had no reason as to hate chief meteorologist Cage Wallace other than his predictions were almost never correct, and his face reminded her of her punching bag she kept set up in her living room. 

Marcus rolled his eyes from across the room as he closed the door to his empty shop. Empty, all except Raven.   
"Knocking," he reminded her, "what ever happened to knocking?" 

Raven shrugged, knowing that no matter what he told her she would most likely do the exact opposite. "My hands are sore from working all day yesterday. Who needs knocking when you can just come right in."  
She occupied herself with a particularly long needle she had spotted lying on the counter next to her hands as she contemplated wether to share her secret or wait until Marcus finally realized the door to his establishment had in fact been locked. 

"Really? Your hands are sore?" Marcus cocked his head and let loose a sarcastic smile to play secretly on his lips, "so it's easier to pick my lock than to knock and wait for me to come open it for you?" 

To late. 

"Yep, pretty much," they both smiled as a crash came from the back room and abrupt the peacefulness of their early morning routine. 

"Uh oh," a small, muffled voice crept to Marcus's ears and he didn't know wether to sigh or laugh. 

"Alex?"

Silence followed a few moments behind his sons name. But, within seconds, they could both see the back swinging door open barely, and hear alexanders small bare feet slap against the floor as he looked for his father. 

*Coming up next; how to stay safe during the quickly approaching storm season, an inside look at Oahu's very own Diamond Head Crater, and an escaped murderer still on the run.*  
The news continued behind them as a wide grin grew on his face at the sight of Ravens subliminal smirk. Screw dad, his favorite was here. 

"Rave!" He screamed, not quite able to pronounce her name correctly as he raised his arms into the air in a small celebration for her presence. 

"I win," she gloated across the room to his father who turned his back on them both, shaking his head as his hands worked diligently on making sure his work space was sterilized and prepared for the start of another busy day. 

Marcus had never imagined his life being filled with needles and ink, but a strange hidden talent for art had led him to the very doorstep of tattoos and designs. Every morning he would find himself lost in the past as he accidentally pricked and stabbed himself with the instruments he was supposed to be sterilizing. Then, he would have to start all over, and allow once again his thoughts to wander astray. If it weren't for Callie, he reckoned he never would've been standing alone in his empty shop, hurting himself and cussing under his breath as her memories laid trapped in his head. 

*"I used to work at a tattoo and piercings shop when I was a teenager! I know all the tricks! C'mon, it'll pay the rent, and we'll finally be able to enjoy the island life instead of drowning in debt and hospital bills."*  
Callie's voice reminded him of a child's arrogance promising the world that everything would be ok. He loved it. 

*"I don't like needles. And I'd be the one working with them! I don't know the first thing about tattoos, and we hardly have enough money for rent, let alone the cash or time to be an apprentice... or whatever you would need to be an artist... we don't even have a place to do it..." *  
Marcus reminded himself of a boy preparing to tear a butterflies wings straight from its back. He grounded her every dream and idea. He hated himself for it.

It wasn't until after Callie passed that he decided she was right. That they, he, couldn't live off of veteran disability compensation forever, and living a life of poverty on an island flooded with tourists and rich businessmen was no way to raise a child, especially as a single parent.  
He began in a single bedroom apartment living off of his neighbors fifty cent cherry tomatoes and Kraft Mac-and-Cheese. Standing behind a granite countertop, writing appointments down with a pen made of real silver. He basically watched his boss light his money on fire as he tossed Marcus a few extra coins every night once he finished his last design on the ass of a multimillionaire playboy model. So much for $12.35 an hour.   
Now, he sat behind his own desk made of driftwood, watching the ocean waves tumble over the sand as partiers played volleyball on the beach and teens rode their bikes on the sidewalk as the elderly couple up the street made their daily descent to the market just down the road. The sidewalk in front of his place had always been covered in sand as it pushed up against the popular dunes of Oahu, but constant crowds and shoppers kept the rock from ever finding its way into his home, and shop. 

*We urge you to lock your doors and be weary of strangers. They say the suspect is around 6' 1", black hair, and a tattoo on his back and arm. If you know anything please contact the tips hotline at...*

"Marcus... Marcus... Marcus..." Raven kept the same tone and expression as she tried getting his attention, holding a patient Alexander in her arms. 

"I'm sorry?" Marcus blinked a few times, realizing his name had been said several times over as he turned to face his friend. 

"I need to get a few parts today, I can drop him off at his daycare. It's just downtown? Right?" 

"Yea, the same place it's always been."

They each said their goodbyes as Raven split the family and led Alex down the street, talking to him as if he were already eighteen and capable of responding. Marcus laughed and held the door open as they left, stepping outside to unlock his windows and push his entire wall to the side as a wave of fresh air fought its way into his parlor.   
Sure enough, a girl no older than fifteen sped by him on her slowly rusting bike as it bathed in the salty, humid outdoors. The retired pair from Minnesota who had moved to the islands to escape the cold was already slowly edging their way closer and closer to his door, smiling as Marcus wished them a good morning. And a match of volleyball had already begun as the sun clung to the young, drunk players's skin.   
It really was a beautiful day.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby's first mission in Hawaii doesn't go as planned.

Chapter 2

May 31st Honolulu International Airport

Hurdling crowds, screaming children, sticky floors, the smell of old coffee and cigarettes filling your nostrils. It was every travelers orchestra. Abby Griffin, however, was not a traveller. And she hated that fact with a burning passion.   
She'd always wanted to see the world, travel beyond the states and experience a different country with a new language on her tongue and cultures dancing in her eyes. It made her heart flutter and rise in her chest at just the thought of such a rush coming into her life. Of thinking about the people she'd meet on the plane and the stories they'd tell of their adventures. What a life it would've been if she had taken a different path. The farthest she had ever gotten on her dream of adventure was a trip to Tennessee for her fathers work, where she practically sat in the midst of their hotel room as he worked himself to sleep in the hospital across the street. The flight on their way home was nothing but constant turbulence and the sound of a woman's weak gag reflex as she rid herself of the breakfast she had that morning. And their drive home was nothing other than her fathers complaints about his patients *nerve* to die, as if it were his fault. Not that it was a big deal. She had finally gotten out of the city, even if it was only for a day or two. But Hawaii? That was a whole another open door. 

"Clarke?" Abby heard her cellphone click as she waited with her luggage next to a line of silver benches and real palm trees growing inside, "you there?" 

"Yes, sorry. I just got in the car. I'm on my way now. It should be about twenty minutes." 

Abby sat down, taking in her surroundings as she watched tourists and native islanders as they came and went before her, "you were right. My turbulence was terrible." She balanced her phone within the crook of her neck as she opened the front pocket of her red suitcase and pulled her laptop from its holder setting it gently over her lap. 

"It's unbelievable sometimes, I know. Anyway, I'm sorry I'm running late. I made a mess in the kitchen," Clarke sighed, the disastrous memories coming back to haunt her as she remembered the way the pancake batter flew all over the kitchen. She ended up laughing at the thought. 

"What are you laughing at?!" Abby smiled as she opened her email, picking up Clarke's small giggles on the other end of her phone. 

"Sorry, I was just thinking. Oh! I forgot to tell you that I already have a lead!" 

Abby stopped working on her computer and directed her full attention to Clarke and what she had to say, "already?" 

"So remember when Lexa was in the military? Apparently one of her friends now works at the Honolulu Police Department, and she got him to send me some stuff about a tattoo artist who was one of the last people to see the guy. They interviewed him a few days ago. I think he could be pretty valuable? He's the one who gave him the distinctive tattoo that Lexa said was on his arm." Clarke seemed hopeful. 

Of course Abby remembered Lexa was in the military, how could she forget? It was the whole reason her daughters had moved thousands of miles away from her in the first place. She was a tough girl, and she's been through plenty of tough situations. But even she couldn't keep going after her deployment in Iraq after the war. She lasted three months before her troop was attacked by leftover Iraqi forces. Lucky for them, Pearl Harbor was in need of new security, and Lexa was in no position to turn down a new life, especially if that meant she could enjoy her time on the beach when she wasn't called to duty.   
Clarke, although respecting whatever decision Lexa made, was not so happy when it came to moving away from the only home she had ever known. But, just as Lexa, how could she ever turn down the beach? 

"Seriously?! What's his name? Does he live on Oahu? Do you think he would be willing to cooperate?" Abby flooded Clarke's head with questions that she seemed to be able to ask in the midst of a heartbeat. 

"He didn't say much," Clarke thought for a moment, struggling to recall what she had read on her computer only a few hours before the sun had even risen above the slightly clouded horizon, "but there was something he said," she paused, "something notable. Anyway, his name is Marcus Kane. I can send you the files when we get home or when I get to the airport. I think he could be promising. But he's also our only lead since the police don't seem to be doing much about anything right now." 

Abby rolled her eyes as she typed Marcus's name into her computer to see if she could find any sort of social media account or address, "which is why I'm coming. We both know the police don't do anything besides write parking tickets and sit on their asses all day."

"Trust me, I know," Clarke thought back to the day she had been giving a three hundred dollar parking ticket on the day of her final exams. Looking back on it now, she laughed at the way she came home and screamed into the new pillows they had just bought for their couch, and how Lexa was worried she was in need of mental care for the way her face seemed to illuminate the room in a red, smoldering glow. She never liked cops since then. 

"Did he give you the name of his establishment? I think I found a website for a tattoo shop with his name in the description but I want to be sure," Abby squinted as she read the description on her computer screen after she carelessly forgot her reading glasses at home after being nearly late for her flight. 

"Blink? Sink? Wait, no," Clarke giggled at her stupid mistake, "Ink. The shops name is Ink," she thought for a moment, "I think..." 

Abby sat up excitedly at the mention of the name, "yes, that's it! He lives on the eastern side of Oahu on Sandy Beach, just off of Kalaniana'ole highway," Abby struggled pronouncing such a Hawaiian name, but tried her hardest as to not embarrass herself in front of any natives who may be eavesdropping on her conversation. 

"Ok, mom, I'm heading into some traffic but I'll be at the airport in about ten minutes and we can head straight there! Gotta go, love you, bye!" 

The phone clicked before Abby had time to protest. Not only was she unprepared to conduct any sort of formal business yet, she didn't ever have his files or if he would be comfortable with sharing any information with a private investigator. If there was one thing Abby Griffin always tried to avoid, it was a lawsuit. And besides the social issues, she still wreaked of body odor and old smoke that was ever so gratuitously left clinging to her from the plane and airports. She may be pretty, but that didn't mean she didn't need to keep up with personal hygiene. 

\-- -- -- -- -- 

"I just still can't believe you're here!" Clarke looked to her mother for the hundredth time as she carefully stepped on the break as the light in front of her flashed red. 

As they headed east, the ocean exceeded to their left. It danced uncontrollably as sea haze from the north rose into the horizon and formed a shield about the island. Abby was, at first, confused that there was no green or brown tint to the spectacle, but her brain quickly caught up with her, reminding herself that it was only evaporating water and not city pollution. It was nice to get a bit of change. She couldn't even believe she was here herself. There were times when she would look down at her laptop and forgot she was even in Hawaii at all. But eventually Clarke's voice would ring in her ears and she would realize she wasn't dreaming. That after three years of being apart she'd finally got her daughter back. 

"I still think I'm in New York sometimes," she commented, "if only I was here to relax and not have to be here doing... well... this," she looked back down to her lap and motioned towards her computer and a few pieces of paper at her feet. 

"Who knows, maybe Lexa was just a random target and she'll be ok," Clarke tried to find sense in what she was saying, "we don't know anything about him or even what his motives are. But we do still need to be cautious. Which is why I worry about you helping. I know we need your help and I know that you want to be doing this. But, mom, what if you get hurt? Or get killed? Or you-" 

"Clarke, it'll be ok," Abby promised, "I will be ok. Whoever this guy is, he isn't a mastermind. We're going to get through this together. All of us. And we're gonna be fine. Ok?" 

Clarke tried to look at her but decided keeping her eyes on the road was more important. She didn't have anything to say either and instead simply gave a short nod, knowing that she didn't have any logical thing to respond back to her with, nor was there any point in arguing. Her mom would be ok, but she wasn't going to simply take that statement for granted. She would make sure that whoever this man was didn't lay a finger on her.

"Wait! Stop, this is it!" Abby screamed as Clarke slammed on the breaks just in time to turn into an alley way that lined against what they assumed would be their destination. The entire front wall was opened, a popular style found all over the island and in nearly every home. They couldn't see much of what was happening inside, but there were plenty of people walking about the sidewalk and beach. Surely no one would leave their shop open in such a busy environment without some sort of supervision.   
To their right was a car garage blaring 90's rock music that caused Clarke to suddenly reminisce about her high school days helping her father out in the garage. Managing would be a better term for helping in the end. But it nonetheless brought back memories of their old radio that needed tuning every other day and the smell of gasoline filling her nostril as her father asked for a blue-handled screwdriver and did some sort of trick with the door handle they were fixing for upstairs. It was funny how a simple song could bring back such a memory. She didn't even know what the name of it was. 

"It looks like you can park here," Abby pointed to a patch of grass off to the side of the alley, anxiously awaiting her chance to get out and speak to the man inside. 

Marcus, although unaware that he would be needing to meet with perturbed and uneasy guests, felt equally concerned in a whole another matter as the man sitting before him began to form tears in his eyes. He couldn't remember his name. Dylan Wellington? Destin Mastiff? Dante's Inferno? No, that's a book. Dante... Wallace. Yes, that was it, Wallace. He was an older man, upper seventies, Marcus guessed. He'd had an appointment set up with him for a few months now to get some sort of wording Marcus couldn't even quite understand to be relabeled over his aging skin. Marcus wasn't really sure what to do. Normally he would ask openly to his customers if they were feeling any pain or if he needed to stop for a moment, but this one customer in particular reminded him of a shark in busy waters. A docile creature patrolling the sea waiting to be provoked by his future prey.   
"Sir, are you ok?" he hoped to ask subtly but decided being straightforward was ultimately his only option given he was trying to concentrate on his permanent art more than his words. 

"Oh, I'm fine," he sniffed, "this ol' horse just ain't what he used to be," he joked, laughing to himself.   
Marcus stood corrected. 

Just as he finished putting the finishing touches on... whatever Latin word this man wanted on his left tricep, he could hear two pairs of shoes shuffle onto his hardwood floors, producing whispers from the ground as it bent slightly below their feet. One was clearly wearing some sort of high heels, obvious by the clicking they made as she shuffled around the room, mostly likely admiring his certificates of business, designs, and posters that framed and decorated his walls. The other was most likely in a type of converse judging by the way their heels kicked into the floors. Whoever they were they weren't so curious as to what he had in his office but what he himself was doing. He could feel his eyes locked onto his hand and contemplated wether to look up at her or not. 

"I'll be with you in a minute..." Marcus mumbled quietly, focusing hard on his project before him. "Alright, I think that's all we'll be doing today," he finally said as he gently turned to the side and placed his machine cautiously in its stand and making sure none of his Ink or cleaner had spilled onto the floor or his clothes. 

"Will I need to come back?" Wallace asked just as Marcus glanced up at his unexpected company and turned to wash and wipe away his customers newly redesigned ink. 

"I don't believe so, but if it starts to bother you or you would prefer it to be darker then we can set up another appointment and get it fixed," he explained as he wiped away the excess ink and small amounts of blood that were normal amongst tattoos. 

Abby could tell he was clearly taking his time. Did he know what they were here for? He couldn't possibly know they were there about his client. He'd barely looked at them for more than two seconds or even acknowledged their presence. He had to be clueless. Right? A near season had passed by the time everything was finished and Marcus's customer had paid and helped himself out the door. Abby let out a sigh of relief just after she knew the older man was out of hearing range. 

"Let's get this over with," Clarke mumbled under her breath as she stepped forward. 

Marcus now bent over against the counter across from them waiting for them to say what he knew would be most unwelcoming for not only him, but the detective and their client as well. 

"We've been led here by the Honolulu Police Department," Abby explained to the promiscuous man that seemed to be studying her as if she were a puzzle waiting to be solved, "we believe you have information abo-" her sentence was cut short. 

"About Jonathan Akers," he said calmly and almost politely. His tone angered her for no reason other than the way his eyes followed the every movement of her lips and flicker of her eyes. 

"Yes," she said bluntly.

He smirked at her before turning to Clarke who stood closer to him. "My name is Marcus Kane. You two must be private detectives. But I'm afraid you've made a wasted trip, I've nothing more to say," he jumped up and turned his back, returning to the messy work station he had recently left and began to slowly take apart his gun and sterilize its needles. 

Abby and Clarke looked to each other before returning their attention back to their 'help.'   
"Please, sir," Abby tried to sound professional, "we are aware that we came in here unannounced and without an appointment. But all we ask for is five minutes of your time, please... and she's not a detective, she's my daughter." 

There was a short silence as Marcus thought. Did he *really* need to be so rude to them? No. Did he *want* to be rude to them? A little. Did he have a reason for it? He was sick of telling the same story over and over again as if he knew anything about what happened. And, well, the detective did have a pretty smile. Fine. 

"The Jonathan Akers came into my shop around 16:25 asking for a quick design on his back and arm," Marcus turned back to them once more and sighed, "but there's no such thing as a quick tattoo and he never made an appointment so I turned him away. He kept persisting and I didn't really feel like arguing so I did it. All he wanted was these squares and circles all over him. I'm not really sure what they were symbolizing. He said it was a drawing his son made for him, but I figured that was a lie since he gave me a fake name too."

Abby scrambled to take out her pen and a notebook, scribbling down the exact words that came from his mouth. Clarke took out her phone and began using her vocal recorder for the first time since she bought the device, hoping to catch every fact and lead he subliminally mentioned. 

"How did you know his name was fake?" Abby questioned as her hand caught up to his voice. 

"He didn't make an appointment, he wanted scribbles permanently drawn into his arm, he paid with cash, and when he showed me his identification it was clearly a fake. It was an Arkansas license but it was thinner than a normal card and didn't have a laser image on the back." 

"And you didn't deny him service?" 

Raven came through the door with Alex at her side just in time for Marcus to avoid answering the question he was dreading, "Whoa, having a little party in here without me." 

Alex didn't say a word as he slowly walked to his father, making sure to keep his distance from the strangers nearest to him. 

Having notices his child's strange and cautious awareness to his visitors, Marcus took a few weak steps towards him and picked him up in his arms, hiding a slight wince of pain beneath his gritted teeth. The only person who seemed to realize the subliminal message was Detective Griffin, who realize at that exact moment the slight limp he carried in his right leg.

"Everything ok?" She made sure her voice was calm and her eyes fixated on his concealed flaw that clearly nobody else could see but her. 

Marcus realized very quickly that his secret was no longer unseen. Yet, Abby could tell he didn't care. It was strange to imagine what it would be like to hide a trauma such as the possibility of the one hidden beneath his pants, for years on end. And when someone finally notices that something isn't right, it'd be as if the whole world knew the entire time. It would be just another crumbling brick on an ancient wall shrouded in vines and wildflowers. The only reason anyone with that sort of attitude would even want to hide such a vital blemish on their being would be because they wanted to ignore. Pretend it wasn't there. That it never happened. 

"I'm fine," Marcus frowned as he invited himself into her staring contest, "no, I didn't deny him service. I have rent to pay next week and I figured whoever that man was could fend for himself. Please, you've come into my home and office uninvited, and I would like to ask you to please leave." 

He was semi-respectful, Abby had to admit. If it weren't to his knowledge that Abby could see through him, she'd reckon he'd almost want them to stay. Just out of curiosity to see what they would do. Just to see. But, he was smart. Either that, or incredibly dull. He didn't try to hide his emotions, or pretend that Abby was not a skilled profiler. Instead he played her game, helped her solve the edge of the puzzle. She'd let her fill in the inside, of course, but he would no doubt be a spitting image of the picture on the box. 

"You're right," Abby smirked and followed his course of action, "we should be leaving, we apologize for our rudeness. Clarke," she turned to her daughter and motioned for her to leave. 

"But we just-" 

"Clarke." 

She read her eyes back to her like a poem. 

"Yes, sorry. Thank you, Mr. Kane." 

They both made their escape as Raven watched them leave, folding her arms in confusion on who they were and why they felt the need to suddenly leave. 

"What was that all about?" She stepped up to the counter Marcus had found himself sketching on in the late hours of the night. Leaning against the very spot he had reconstructed The Nightmare hundreds of times before. Each one with a different face. A different demon. A different story. 

"Nothing," he reassured her as Marcus kissed his son gently on the cheek as he tried to squirm from his fathers grasp and explore the open floor, "just a small misunderstanding."


End file.
